


Riddick vs the Plot Bunnies

by Elizabeth_Cords



Category: Chronicles of Riddick (2004), Pitch Black (2000)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Gen, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:42:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Cords/pseuds/Elizabeth_Cords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metafiction. Just a silly, snarky fight that Riddick and I the writer get into: I can't find my plot bunnies, so I call in Big Evil to hunt them down. We argue about the bounty and insult each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bounty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NiftyKitchenKnives](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=NiftyKitchenKnives).



> This is metafiction. (a type of fiction that self-consciously addresses the devices of fiction, exposing the fictional illusion. -thank you wikipedia.)
> 
> It's actually part of an ongoing series, which is archived at VinXperience.net under the title "Riddick's Meta Misadventures" 
> 
> Think this is... episode 5? When Big Evil doesn't play nice, I essentially blog the 'fights' we have in my head, because they're funny and self-depreciating. It gets me out of writers block, or, if I'm not writing well, it at least flexes the word-muscles to keep them toned. *kicks Riddy before he comments on that*
> 
> Anyway, this all takes place at "The Temple" constructed in conversation 4. Just think of your typical Greko-Roman temple. He lives there in his off time. I'm just one of the writer-priestesses who chronicles his adventures.
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Riddick. He'd like to tell you no-one does. And he has a big knife, I'm not arguing with him.
> 
> Dedicated to NiftyKitchenKnives at fanfiction.net for inspiring this.

* * *

_**"They are nefarious creatures, I've found, and needs must be taught lessons once in a while."** _

I giggled, and he looked up from the table where he was methodically whetting his sharpening stone. How he heard me over the grinding scrape of stone on stone is beyond me. But technically, this is his space. So I don't question it, much.

"Something funny?" He had a right to be suspicious. Told him he had a mission tonight. Something that didn't involve magic or fairies. He hated passive shit, and had been squirming under my admittedly lax leash lately.

I shifted on the bed. _"Nefarious"_ she'd said. She was right. I couldn't run them down myself. I'd tried luring them with the usual bate, appealed to their pride, reread the counseling manuals. Even looked for help online. The last ditch effort had been the bottle. Gentleman Jack. I was cursing myself for wasting the good stuff on their recalcitrant little asses. Fucking lapins.

He still wouldn't like it. I could dress them up as vicious pack animals, fanged and destructive... silent feral, red-eyed demons with no pity or remorse... use all the Monty Python "Grail" references I wanted. But I'd still look like the Enchanter Tim, facing the disbelieving Knights of the Round. Yup, Sir Shivs-a-lot was going to _love_ this bounty. The Killer of Caerbannog was, after all, a plot bunny.

He glowered at me expectantly. I drummed the keyboard, trying to find the words. I'd promised him action tonight, something he could vent the beast on. Told him the bounty had be brought back _alive._ But that was... semantics. If he killed a few, fine. At least then I could get on with the others. Fewer options made for quicker choices. A few dead bunnies, well, made a fur coat. Or more likely, an afternoon chew toy for his pets: Swoop and Snarl, dozing by the fire. (That was the _last_ time I let him watch Transformer cartoons drunk. Damn dinobots amused him for some reason. Poor hellhounds were paying the price in spades.)

"Well?" He growled from my shoulder. I squeaked and slammed the laptop shut. I glanced from the shiv in his hand to his goggles and shuttered. His cheek twitched, a suppressed grin.

"Don't sneak up on me." I grumped, sliding off the bed. He had an open bottle of Maker's Mark on the table. I grabbed a shot glass and poured. Slammed it back and poured another. I was stalling and we both knew it.

"It's the mission." I turned, leaning back on the table. He'd snuck up behind me again, just cuz he could. Smug bastard. Then again, those skills were why I'd decided to send him out.

"How many bottles of whiskey did you say were missing last week?" He quirked an eyebrow, deliberately securing the shiv away in his belt. Then he stepped forward into my space, leaning into me so I bent back reflexively. It was the kind of move that made me want to bite him, right where fabric met skin. And he _wanted_ me to, which is why I wouldn't. He knew it, and loved pushing my buttons. _My space_. He wasn't allowed to invade it uninvited. I wasn't his OFC. He delighted in little rule violations that got my temper up. He palmed the whiskey bottle on the table and stepped back, grinning openly now.

"I didn't say," he drawled after he'd taken a long swallow. He walked around the table to his chair, kicked it out and sat. "Only said two of the good stuff were gone, and a fucking mess left in my private cabinet. Didn't think anyone else would dare. You musta been pretty trashed."

"Wasn't me. I told you." I toed out the chair next to me and sat. "It was _them_. Little buck-toothed bastards." This last more to myself, but I knew he could hear.

"My mark?" I looked at him oddly, not sure if he meant the pun or not. Decided even he wasn't that clever.

"Marks. Plural." I took the second shot. I'd need it tonight. My mind whirled with ideas, how to sell this... he would not be pleased with my likening him to Elmer Fudd. _We're hunting wabbits._ I giggled again, wondering at the hysterical edge in my echo.

"This ain't like you, Liz... spit it out."

I sighed, took in his grave expression. He was in business mode. Wanted to hunt. I sighed again, shut my eyes. Said it.

"Plot. Bunnies."

"What?"

"They're drunk too. Have been for _weeks_. Binging little bastards."

"Excuse me?"

I opened one eye, testing. The goggles were off now. I don't think I'd ever seen him... flummoxed before.

"This is meta, Riddick. You and I have these talks. It really makes perfect sense that the crazed gnawing threads of my stories have personified themselves in this 'verse." I shrugged. Shut my eye again.

"As rodents," his tone was utter disbelief. I deflated.

"Rabbits aren't rodents. They're order: Lagomorpha. I looked it up."

"They're _rodents_ ," he repeated, crossing his arms. "Food. Pets for children. I am not hunting the goddamn Easter Bunny."

"If they were that big, I could catch them myself." I muttered. He snorted.

"I'll tell Swoop to sleep in front of the bar. Problem solved." He stood up, grabbed his sharpening tools and stomped towards the door.

" _Riddick!_ They are not cute little lop-eared fluff balls! They're very valuable daemons!" I knew I sounded desperate and whiny, and he despised that. It annoyed him. I didn't like asking for his help. That started a cycle of self-hate. Then I got snippy and vindictive, and if he didn't make it better, I did _mean things_ to him. Like write him into fairy stories. And leave him there. He grabbed the door frame, banged his head against the polished wood. I could hear the molding complain under his digging fingers.

"So call animal services." He ground out through clenched teeth. "I'm not a fucking dog catcher."

"Or a fireman," I added, ignoring him and grabbing the bottle off the table where he'd left it. I pored myself another shot. "I told you, they're evasive. Slippery little buggers, wicked-smart and vicious. And when they've been on a bender like this, there is _no_ reasoning with them."

"Drunken frat bunnies?" He deadpanned, watching my hands on _his_ whiskey bottle. He punched the door frame, cracking it, but then seemed to reach some sort of acceptance. He stomped back to the table, plucking the bottle from my grasp. I let him pace, waiting for the beast to settle. He'd work it out, this wasn't an idle task, or I wouldn't have brought it to him, framed it as such. He was quiet for a minute.

"Gonna cost you."

"Expected that. What are your terms?"

"Want an end to this fairy bullshit." I scoffed. He glared at me, growling a warning.

"Why do you think I want them _back,_ idiot?! You think I meant to leave you stranded there?!"

"You've done worse."

"Have not!" He leaned forward slowly, fingernails gouging the table. The hate gleamed in his eyes. One word, very softly.

_"Barney."_ I gritted my teeth, leaned forward, mirroring his position.

"Never published. Per. Our. Agreement." He wanted to play rough? Fine! I could play staring contest all night. He was glaring daggers, but I had a little sister, I was an old hand at this game. He finally made a disgruntled noise and leaned back, shifting his gaze to the wall.

"You want out of the fairy 'verse, you gotta bring me back those beasts. _Alive._ " I could massage them a bit when they were sober, make them walk a straight line.

"You gotta work on the other one too." His tone was petulant. I knew he preferred the straight sci-fi. It was harder for me, more work, research. I nodded. Half the loose beasties were from there too.

"Those are the black ones. Harder to make out in the dark." Harder to hold too. Some of them had rockets in their butts, I swear.

"I'll even give you 'Firefly'," I promised. He knew I'd been probing the depths there, hogging the dvd player for the last few weeks with my 'research.' Before the bunnies came back from their jaunt ~wherever~ and broke into the liquor stash and made a mess, causing our fight.

"You finish what you started first." He whipped the shiv out of his belt, pointing it at me to punctuate the point. I rolled my eyes.

"Yes, dear."

"Don't fuck with me woman."

"Oh I love it when you talk dirty." I sniped back. He growled and I did my best "Home Alone" impression. It was our typical banter. And it meant he'd accepted the job. Grudgingly, but he'd do it.

I got up to get the file from the bed. Sightings, last known whereabouts... apparently they'd stirred up a ruckus at some VP bar on Elexxis IV. But that was two days ago. Frankly, I was beginning to wonder if they'd hijacked the floating party from Douglas Adams "Life, the Universe and Everything." They were right bastards, after all.

"My life is not becoming a British comedy," I grumbled to myself.

"Fuck that shite," Riddick added, grinning. I shook my head and handed him the file.

"I need them _alive_ , Riddick," I reiterated as he swiped the folder. "And don't underestimate them. They're damn unpredictable anyway, but drunk... they're kamikaze."  
"My kinda game," he grinned wickedly. This time I knew he meant the pun.

"Fine line between fearless and stupid." I shook my head and walked back to the bed. I was probably going to regret this. The beast wasn't known for being gentle with prey. And frankly, they were _his_ plot bunnies as much as mine. Riddick plot bunnies. Didn't get any darker and more feral than that. I shuttered, red soulless eyes dancing in my head. _Munch,munch, munch..._ relentless, silent vermin; chewing on my ideas and sanity unendingly. Insidious white noise.

"Don't worry, Baby Bunting. Daddy's going hunting..."

"YOU'RE QUOTING MOTHER GOOSE, RIDDICK!" I yelled toward the door where he'd ghosted.

Great... Sir Shivs-a-lot versus the Plot Bunnies. Someone wasn't coming back alive.

Oh well, if he didn't make it, there was always Toombs.


	2. The Return Xover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I couldn't leave this without its 'battle.' Except... it didn't turn out that way. Often happens when I'm at the helm. Or rather, certain furry little drunk plot bunnies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading "XXXholic" at the time I wrote this, and the Space Witch has a pair of trans-dimensional bunnies, Mokona being the black one that stays with her, and Modoki which she sent to the "Tsubasa" universe (another manga by CLAMP that has crossover plot points.) Anyway, the black bunny is always getting drunk with her, so if you want a visual to go with it... I was probably subconsciously channeling him.
> 
> This is a crossover piece. Literally. For mature audiences only - meaning, if you can't take a self-effacing joke, don't read this.

Blank screen stared at me, cursor blinking accusingly. The ideas weren't coming, but that was ok. I'm fine with silence in my head.

Riddick was still out, hunting down the plot bunnies. It had been, what... two, three days? No communication, but I imagined, he was still sulking. Anyone who's ever had to chase a pet rabbit around the living room for the nth time to keep it from chewing on the electrical cables knows how annoyingly futile such pursuits are. Little buggers skitter and turn on a dime-give you nine cents change. Sheesh. Then when you bang your head on the wall trying to dig them out from under the couch, they bolt for the bedroom. Gleeful bunny games. Multiply that by about 20, add six weeks of liquor and, oh, the AU of "Running Man." _That_ was probably what Riddick was facing.

So I did _not_ expect him to come in roaring-damn-drunk with a sack full of rabbits, _singing_. I had seen, and frankly, made him do, some weird-ass things. But Riddick-karaoke? New one.

"W. T. F. Get a load of you..." Fuck, I could _smell_ the liquor from here. The cat asleep on the bed uncurled, sniffed delicately. He made a feline 'yucky' face and jumped down, slinking away. I was inclined to do the same, but as he sauntered into the dim space, I could finally make out... was that? No...

"So Riddick, is that a bunny on your head or are you just happy to see me?" Because, yes, perched above his goggles was a midnight-black furball, tenaciously clinging to his skull. Good lord, did it have a pair of mini goggles too?

Riddick grinned wickedly, cocked his head and stumbled, catching himself on the bedpost. The small black rabbit continued to sing tunelessly in a high, grating voice. He tossed the sack of rabbits on the bed, and I heard lots of muffled squeals and giggles. And one tiny panicked "Oh crap - Ralph is gonna ralph again!" followed by a very distasteful retching noise.

I stared at the burlap sack as, well, 19 or so bumps scuttled to the far end of the bag, leaving one lump shivering alone. Skull-bunny snickered quietly. "Better let them out, Diddy." This was followed by a falsetto chorus of echos. "Yeah, Diddy, let us out!" "R-dawg- pleeeeeaase?" "Out!Out! Out!" and one "Whoo- party!"

Uh... R-dog?! _Diddy?!_ I looked from the sack to "R-dog," bug eyed.

Riddick grabbed skull-bunny by the ears and dangled him in front of his face. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT! "he roared. I could hear Swoop or Snarl jump awake in a skitter of claws across the room, startled by their master's voice. Riddick was staring death at the rabbit in his massive fist, but the bunny blinked placidly and yawned. Patted his cheek with one paw, dismissively.

"Sure dawg, sure. My bad. Where's the Patron?"

"Fucking ratty little earmuff," Riddick snarled and flung him on the bed. He stomped over to the alter, scanning it irritably. Offerings went flying: books, pictures, flower bouquets. "Who the fuck I gotta shiv to get some food around here?"

"Uh, I'll take those roses, if you're not gonna eat 'em." The black furball next to me said reasonably. "Bit peckish myself."

I finally found my voice. "He promised you tequila?"

"Yeah, he said he needed coffee and I said, no, you need Patron Cafe, cuz it's gooood. And then Willy G started singing that damn Paradiso Girls song and we'd _just_ shut him up..."

"Yo!" A paw shot up in the bag. "I'm on Patron _tequila,_ me and my _mamacitas!_ " Skull-bunny sighed dramatically, hopped over, and bopped the singing lump with a paw.

"SHUT UP, G!"

"I helped write that you know." The little voice sulked.

"Did not!" Another lump yelled, charging into him.

"You hung out with Little Jon _one time!"_ Another chimed in.

Great... my plot bunnies are freelancing. I rolled my eyes and slid off the bed, picking up discarded alter gifts as I went.

Riddick was staring _really hard_ at the stone dais, scowling. I waited a beat. He wouldn't ask for help, he never did. I crossed my arms. He ignored me.

"He wants you to make it work!" The skull-bunny called helpfully from the bed.

"What do you want?" I asked. The alter was a place for offerings, not a request menu. Big guy was _not_ exactly articulate when he was drunk anyway. Unless confessing his love to an OFC. In bed.

"Sandwich. Pizza. A goddamn protein bar. Just some goddamn _food_!"

"We have a fridge, Riddick." He looked at me, perplexed.

"We do? Where?" I shook my head. It was easier to just wish him up a submarine sandwich than let him rummage around in the icebox. I went back to the bed, and typed it in.

"Magical sandwich. Poof."

"No mustard. He hates that." The little black rabbit put in, hopping next to my leg. I stared at it, it did it's best bunny shrug."I'm his damn conscience and sense of humanity. Duh."

"And where the fuck have you _been?!_ "

"What? You weren't using me in the story anyway. I got bored. Went out for a drink." He twitched his nose and rubbed the tiny goggles on his forehead reflexively.

"That was _weeks_ ago. And you took the whole damn bunny brigade with you!"

"No. I took Wheezy with me, and it was a good party. And so we called up Excess and Willy G..."

"Yo!" The paw-lump shot up in the bag again.

"...it just kinda steamrolled from there." He shrugged again.

"No," another little voice from the bag put in,"More like, snowballed down the mountain."

"Shut UP, Metafore, or I'll make sure you get left in the bag with Ralph!" Skull-bunny shot the bag a dirty look. "And stop calling me Skull-bunny. It's Alphonso, aka the Fonz." He sniffed.

Wow, my own meta creations were getting tetchy.

"And thirsty," Fonzie said.

A chorus of "yeah!"s followed from the sack.

"NO!" Riddick yelled from the table. "PUT THEM AWAY! NOW!" He was chewing his sandwich very deliberately and eying his adorable little nemesis banefully.

"What? You had fun!" Fonz smiled cheekily. "You gonna tell me you didn't?" I knew a prompting when I saw it, so I scooped up the black fuzzball and carried him to the table. Riddick's hard expression didn't change. He grabbed the bottle of Tullamore Dew he'd opened, moving it protectively away from Fonz.

"Fun? Is that what you call it?" He shoved his goggles up and glared at the bunny. He had to put down his sandwich to do this, since he was still... wobbly. I mean, I'd seen Riddick drunk before, but never... tipsy in the literal sense. I've seen him knock back a few bottles of whiskey and barely slur... so what the fuck had him so annihilated?

"Pan-galactic gargleblasters." Fonz said cooly, reading my thoughts. He swiped a piece of lettuce from the sandwich and hopped to the far side of the table, munching contentedly. "And mojitos."

"Whoo-hoo! MoJItooos!"

"SHUT UP, G!" Riddick and Fonz said automatically.

"I'm gonna shiv that little bastard," Riddick added, eyes never leaving Fonz. "You don't mind, Liz? Do ya? One less Worvin burrow rat runnin' around, mucking up the plot?"

"Actually, he's in charge of the sci-fi elements in the fairy story. _Kinda_ important." Fonz pointed out.

"Fuck" said Riddick.

"I need him." I said.

"Whoo-hoo!" Said Wally G. Then someone in the bag bonked him.

"So... mojitos?" I prompted. Riddick looked pained. Fonz snickered rudely.

"Yup. That's what started it."

"Fucking pirates." Riddick grumbled.

"They always have rum." Fonz agreed.

"You were drinking with pirates? Like... 'Shiver me timbers' 'walk the plank' 'Arr!' pirates? Cuz I know you wouldn't stoop to drinking with mercs, R." I wanted to sit down, but I really had to cage the bunnies. So I went to get the hutches I'd prepared for them.

"Yup. Captain Jack Sparrow himself. And that Calypso chick was hitting on boyo here pretty hard."

"Whatever," Riddick cut him off. "I was just there to retrieve your dumb bunny butts. And if I recall, she seemed more interested in filleting you and reading your entrails." The rabbit made a dismissive noise.

"She was _flirting_."

"With a machete?" Riddick sounded dubious.

"Where were you meeting 17th Century pirates, persay?" I dropped the first hutch by the bed, went back for the second. "I mean, I know this is meta guys, but really?"

"The flying party skipped dimensions, crashed into the fanfic crossover 'verse." I stopped. Gaped. Riddick got up, refused to meet my gaze and hoisted the other two converted crates over to the bed.

"Lets get these little fuckers put to bed." He upended the burlap bag, dumping the... herd? warren? nest? (all acceptable terms apparently) of fluffy plot-bunnies on the bedspread. There was the usual chorus of "wheee!" a few drunken burps, and an _awful_ smell of stale beer, wet hay and... bunny puke?

"Bunnies can't puke you know," Fonz interjected. "Flaw in our digestive design."

"Stop nitpicking!" I yelled.

"Yay! I don't exist!" said Ralph as he was unceremoniously tossed into the 'white' hutch. (White for fairy-story bunnies, Black for sci-fi bunnies, and another for random spotted, agouti, tortoise, blue...)

"Shut up about the colors, Liz, you are really putting too much research into rabbits right now."

"Shut up yourself, Riddick, you were partying with pirates. And was this before or after you located them all?"

"Oh, he _literally_ crashed the party. That was why it did a dimension hop. Trying to get away. And some yutz over in the Douglas Adams wing was trying to use that Infinite Probability Drive to duck him, but he rammed us with that piece of shit scouter he had, and suddenly -WHAM! multi-verse house party!" Fonzie sounded irritated but also kinda awed.

"Not my fault. You could have come quietly." Riddick was getting a little too forceful with the bunny-sort, whipping them into the hutches' wire mesh hard enough that I heard it. Lucky they were ideas, or they might have been hurt. Or dead. I pushed him aside gently. He was getting rather pissy about Fonz's teasing. I still didn't get what had set him off.

"He's embarrassed about the Harry Potter fiasco." Fonz shared.

"WHAT?!"

"Cross-over rooms. Ya know, like Firefly and your Dexter slash. And HP is king, baby."

"You're just mad I got you kicked out of the 'Buffy' room," Riddick smirked. "Still can't believe you were trying to play 'Bunnicula' - just so the Slayer would stake you." He picked up his sandwich and glanced sideways at the bristling bunny. "I'm beginning to think you have a thing for pain."

"I am _your_ conscience, Dicky-boy. Like I haven't been run through the meat-grinder anyway." The black rabbit began washing his fur down. I was still very, very lost.

"Cross-over rooms?"

"Yeah, it was like a rave, you know - with the different themes and djs? Chill out room, wacky world-fusion forest room, happy-hardcore fire spinning hula-hoop room? Every door led to a different frakkin' party. Inside was the cast of different tv shows and movies, dig?"

"And the fucking hippy-hoppers were spread out all through the house," Riddick scowled. "I was dodging smeggin' light sabers in one room, being attacked by drunk frakkin' pirates in another, and getting called a gorram Alliance Operative in a third."

"And apparently picking up some interesting swear words along the way." I shook detritus off the bedspread and smoothed it down. Locked the hutches.

"Be glad no one got into the Battlestar Galactica 'verse." Fonz said. "Heard they were having turf wars with the Doctor Who boys. " He shuttered theatrically. "Cylons versus Daliks - all hyped on nano-hol. More bitch fights than 'Flavor of Love.' Uuugh-ly."

"Still would have preferred that to..." Riddick stared at the sandwich in his hand. Threw it in the trash. Went back to the bottle and chugged the rest of it. Then he did something else I'd never seen him do, put his head down on the table and cover it with his arms. Fonz sniggered.

"He's trying to forget a 14 year old wizard..." He stage whispered dramatically.

"I'm gonna stick this knife up your butt, hook your intestines and use you as a yo-yo if you don't _SHUT UP_!" Riddick's threat was muffled, but clear. Fonz poo-pooed him.

"You tell her or I will."

Riddick just made a noise.

"Thought so," the bunny beamed triumphantly.

"See.. Ralph can't hold his liquor, right? Cuz he's like, Mr. Morality. So we figured, throw him in with the teenagers, right? They aren't drinking, just practicing magic, and what magician doesn't need a bunny?"

"So... you put him in the kids room at Hogwarts?" I'd gotten some food for the rabbits and was doling it out. Ralph looked up at me miserably.

"Seemed like a decent idea at the time. Figured I'd teach them how to play 'Magic the Gathering' or something..." I handed him some willow bark to chew on, patted his head.

"Yeah, so.. we figured, leave him in there, Hargrid will look after him...magical animal and all that. So, Riddy busts in, and I'm not gonna say we put him in a great mood with our collective shananigins... I mean, he had to drink Jack Sparrow under the table to get me out of there, Willy G was off playing Sith Lord, Metafore was drinkin' absinthe with some Edger Allen Poe dude...

"That was Neil Gaiman you nitwit!" An indignantly shrill voice interrupted. Fonz rolled his eyes.

"Doxie was off playing Dance-Dance Revolution with those Naruto ninjas for sake shots..."

"Yeah, that's when you snuck off again to drink with those vamps" Riddick raised his face enough to scowl at the bunny on the table.

"What can I say? Spike can be persuasive when he wants. Besides, he'd been kickin' it with Wheezy and Excess, and they'd played dice with the pirates to get the Qualactin Hypermint they needed for the Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters that Willow was making- because mojitos are really damn fine when you can use Qualactin Hypermint."

"Belgium" Riddick said.

"Don't be coarse," Fonz sniffed. "I told you not to have more than one."

"They were _good,_ "Riddick mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Riddick, with a hangover? That was going to be new. I went and got him a cold cloth and some water.

"So yeah, he'd been blasted at and gotten blasted by the time he kicked the door in on the Potter-verse."

"And they, what? Took you for a Dementer? Voldemort's drunken twin?" I was dying to know.

"Worse. Harry fell in love with him."

"WHAT?!"

"You know, that stupid-kid hero-worship karma he seems to induce? *cough* Jack *cough* " Fonz smirked again. "Uh, so but... things are kinda twisted in there... and Harry's got some serious daddy issues... and since his teachers are always trying to boink him in the fanverse..."

Riddick pulled the washcloth over his head and groaned again.

"Little fucker started undressing and _offered_ himself to Big Evil here..."

"He. Did. Not." I sat down. On the floor.

"Yeah, well, drunk or not, Diddy just told him to frak off. Shoved him at his teachers... which was _not_ the smartest thing to do, ya know, R..." Riddick just held up a middle finger at the reproachful bunny.

"How did I know it would insight an orgy?"

"Don't you _read_ , Riddick? I mean, that stuff is as prolific as Kirk/Spock!" Fonz stared at him.

"Not that kind of warped shit."

"No wonder Ralph is sick," I muttered.

"No, that was too much candy," Fonz said. "Or something those Weasly twins fed him."

"Why haven't I blacked out?" Riddick mumbled piteously. "I don't think _I've_ been this drunk since I was 13. I don't want to remember _any_ of this. Liz, I hate you."

"He _has_ had enough to ghost a megadon elephant." Fonz confirmed. "And he _flew_ like that."

No wonder the bunnies hadn't objected to staying in the sack. I wouldn't want a blind drunk Riddick driving me home either. I wouldn't want to see how many times I almost died.

"Erase this, please." Riddick begged quietly. "If only to save me from the hangover."

"And his dignity."

"Don't care about that." Riddick shot back. "I'd rather bed Dame Vaako than have that picture of Potter stuck in my head. I've seen some brutal stuff, but..." he just made another plaintive noise. "Cut my head off and feed me to my hell hounds, _please._ "

"Wow." It really was all I could say. "I expected you to come back mildly bruised, a few fang marks... not... broken."

"Oh, he's not broken. He's just..."

"Questioning my identity?"Riddick interrupted."Wishing the universe would explode? Desperately hoping you'll conjure up a time machine so I can go ghost a certain female British author and deprive her perverted fans of a pasty, be-speckled broom rider who likes to have things shoved up his butt?"

"I probably shouldn't tell him about MPREG then." The bunny glanced at me.

"No." I agreed, picking him up and taking him to his hutch.

"What? No nightcap? No goodnight kiss?" Fonz was bristling again.

"No. You have been a very naughty plot bunny. You have caused much disturbance in the Force." I dropped him in the cage and latched it.

"What's life without a little chaos?" Fonz was still sounding way too smug as he pushed his paws against the wire mesh."Anarchy is good for the soul." I bent down, nose to nose with the adorable desultory daemon.

"You be quiet now, or I'm going to rub you with bacon and toss you to Swoop and Snarl," I whispered fiercely. That shut him up.

Now I just had a very miserable, very inebriated Furyan to deal with. I sighed, picked my laptop up off the bed and went back to the table.

"Can we _please_ just have a plot hole where I suddenly have some physiological anomaly to not get a hangover?"

"No Riddick. You do not get a brand new special magic power every time I can't write you out of a situation. That's lazy."

"Don't mention magic, gorham it." He sulked. I reached across the table and rubbed his head, wet cloth and all. He growled, but it had no heat.

"Eh, it reinforces your humanity, seeing you suffer. I don't like invulnerable heroes."

"I'm not a hero," he grumped automatically.

"You're right. Superman would never be caught dead-ass drunk with pirates."

"Or bunnies."

"True."

"Come on, big guy, lets get you to your room. I'll have Vaako bring you some aspirin. I'll even put him in a nurse's outfit for you."

"Can I punch him?"

"Yes. But you know he'll like it."

"I think you'll like it more."

"It's my imagination, darling. It can't be helped."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah... it is what it is. This whole meta series is about me deconstructing fangurl myth and Mary Sue tropes. Everything I run into as I navigate the fanfic 'verse. I'd only been doing it for a year when I originally wrote this back in 2010 ... but I'm old and snarky... and fell into the same self-constructed traps as any novice new to the game. I deal with the shock and awe with humor. Sue me. Oh wait - you can't! I own NOTHING!!! I make no money from this!
> 
> I just hope it made you smile. Or spit take on your screen.
> 
> Hopefully the plot bunnies have sobered up enough that I can, like, update my 'real' stories again.


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